


Probabilities & Prospects

by nationalnobody



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Oswald Centric, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 10:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11780982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nationalnobody/pseuds/nationalnobody
Summary: Strangers to friends, friends to lovers, lovers to strangers and all that lay in between which Oswald could not run from. It haunts him; the ghost of a still living, breathing Edward Nygma.





	Probabilities & Prospects

There is a notion of unfamiliarity present in the air whenever he hangs out with Ed now. The honeyed giggles and seamless hugs that once were have now morphed into awkward titters and uncomfortable pats on the back, with a heavy phrase of nothing swinging back and forth between them like a pendulum.

Feeling the blades of grass beneath his fingertips and the dew surely sinking into his trousers, Oswald finds himself desperately wishing to take it all back. To have never said a word about this or that or give someone even the slightest bit of power over him. He feels weak; and like the bane of his existence, the question always comes back to him,  _why did he listen to his heart?_

The week had stumbled by in a grey haze after starting off in bright shades of yellow. He recalls his own downfall for what feels like the hundredth time that week; his foreordained failure of a confession.

Deep brown tresses that seemed modelled by the wind itself and the soft yet piercing eyes he still cannot shake from his mind, no matter how hard he tries. He should have known that this would ruin everything but when time slowed down for the two of them after they sat on that tram; panting and breathlessly ardent, he thought to himself it could not just be mere  _coincidence._  

Oswald was a firm believer in things happening for a reason and he still holds to that, if not a little more shakily than he would like. How could something so good be a simple play of chance? The universe is far too vast, far too terrifying, for everything to form from probabilities and prospects alone. Strangers to friends, friends to lovers, lovers to strangers and all that lay in between which Oswald could not run from. It haunts him; the ghost of a still living, breathing Edward Nygma.

The silence in his leaden bedroom is interrupted by the constant buzzing of his phone, screen lighting up with the name and photo of his friend, though truly he is not sure what to call her, Ivy. He should really pick it up. He does not. The buzzing fades into the background once more and the gnawing silence washes over the room yet again.

He unlocks his phone to rid it of the notifications but not before opening his text messages, _stupid stupid stupid._

 **From:**  Ed

**RECENT**

_> Hello Os, are you okay? Apologies for acting like a, to be frank, dick last week. Message me back whenever you can.  
_ _> Oswald I am sorry_

**READ**

_> I didn’t mean to blow up at you  
_ _> It’s just I wasn’t expecting you to feel that way...about me especially  
_ _> Please respond. Ivy is worried.  
_ _> I don’t know what to say  
_ _> Oswald??_

He just had to go and mess up the perfectly good friendship he had going with Ed. Water clouds his vision and it feels nothing short of a downpour when the tears finally fall, choking on his own breath and watching the inevitable droplets hitting the carpeted floor.

The phone buzzes but its sound is drowned out by the breaths catching in Oswald’s throat. The screen lights up again, a photo of a soft smiling ever elegant, Ed. It evades his vision and just like that, the screen fades to black once more and once again, he is left alone.

He finds that time itself has an odd way of passing when he is neck deep in his thoughts,  _much too quickly._  He does not know what to do. How can he ever face Ed again? He cannot. After everything is said and done, it all comes down to him - it was he who decided to spout his feelings like a complete and utter buffoon to the person he held dearest, to risk every single thing they shared.

Suddenly, he is aware of the escalating _tap, tap, tap_ at his window. Morbidly he thinks, he has lost everything in the span of a few days, if a murderer were to climb through his second story window, would it really matter? But there is something peculiar about this tapping, something familiar.

Slowly, he walks to the window, drawing back the curtain gently. He peers into the glass pane and out into the world - no one is there.  _What did you expect?_ Has he become so desperate that hallucinations are not beyond him? What would his mother think of him now? Tucked away in his bedroom, sulking,  _don’t furrow your brow my beautiful boy_ \- he yells, grips the night lamp from the desk and hurls it against the wall.

“You fool!” A garbled mess between a mutter and a shout. His body is heaving beneath an invisible weight, the phone lights up once more, and he finds he cannot breathe.

_Breathe, breathe, breathe._

The ringing continues. Oswald picks it up only to whisper with a strained voice down the receiving end,  _“Please stop.”_

He thinks it is Ivy but it is not. There is a slight intake of breath, barely noticeable over his own ragged breathing, but it is there. And he knows that breath, knows everything about the man who breathes it, could find him a room blindfolded and bound with only his heart to guide him.

 _"Oswald?”_  Suddenly, it seems that the voice is right next to him and his small huff of laughter bubbles into hysteria, his mind is making a mockery of him, he is not here you idiot.

But he is.

There is a gentle hand on his shoulder and Oswald spins, “How did you get inside?”, he panics.

Ed remains calm, demeanour screaming ‘trying too hard to seem casually aloof’, “Front door. You should really lock it, Oswald. Gotham isn’t the safest place, you know.” The slight humour in Ed’s voice makes Oswald want to break down in tears,  _please do not play with my heart like this, do you not hate me?_

It is as if Ed could read his mind because the next words that come tumbling out of Ed’s mouth render Oswald speechless.

“I’m not angry. I was wrong to react the way I did when you bared yourself to me. That was brave. What I did was not. I-You see, my father… He…”, he watches on as Ed inhales deeply, “He used to say things about boys who love each other. Things no child should hear. Things that made a smaller Edward dig his nails into his palms, so hard he tore the skin, in hopes to quell this feeling he could not shake himself of. I-I still worry, though you know he is long dead and gone. When you told me you loved me last week, I panicked. Afraid my father would come barging through that very tram door and do something terrible, not only to me, but to  _you_.”

Oswald, who was previously shaking, regains his composure and lifts his steady but meek gaze to Ed’s.

“I was afraid that if I said I love you too, I would end up hurting you somehow. Seems like I did just that though.” He lets out a dry chuckle and Oswald’s lip twitches upwards, eyes half full of mirth. There is silence encapsulating the room once more; Oswald’s eyes leave Ed’s. A part of him worries that his mind might be conjuring this up, that Ed is not actually here and if he blinks one time too quick, this Ed will be gone and so will his chance.

For some reason, it does not happen.

Ed is still standing when Oswald limps one step closer, lays a hand on his chest and peers up at the man he has longed for and loved for three years now. Ed does not disappear as Oswald moves closer, arms reaching up and around, curling like a python around its prey. It is who they are after all. Ed shudders and raises his arms, the scent of chypre surrounding him.

There is a harsh pull, much like gravity, when they finally collide. Clasping one another like children in the dark because after every title is stripped away, that is who they are. The quiet sonance of trembling laughter as Oswald buries his nose in the crook of Ed’s neck, near wincing when Ed squeezes him that little bit tighter. Momentarily afraid, but the notion dissipates the second he feels Ed’s lips press atop his head - gentle.

“I missed you.” His second admonition of the week.

But this time it is reciprocated, “As did I.”

**Author's Note:**

> hi! it's been a while and a bit, i've missed writing.
> 
> feel free to hmu: softerspots.tumblr.com


End file.
